


A Pair of Mages

by minnabird



Series: A Pair of Mages 'verse [1]
Category: Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Developing Friendships, Geeks Geeking Out, Gen, Mages, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 23:19:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10524024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minnabird/pseuds/minnabird
Summary: Two mages meet, far from their homes. Thom's been on his own for too long, and Numair is too intriguing to ignore. He can't help poking his nose in.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Coppercrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coppercrow/gifts).



The Mother of Flowers convent sat on a bluff overlooking Ambririp Harbor. It was a pleasant place to stay, far enough from the hubbub of the docks and city to be peaceful, but still a good vantage point to watch the comings and goings of the ships.

But its library was worth more than all this. It held rare volumes of sorcery – indeed, it was well known among the Copper Isles’ luarin for this. Many of them, Thom had never seen in his travels. Thom had contributed generously to the convent’s coffers, grateful for both the shelter and the opportunity to study the library’s marvels.

It would be time to move on soon, though, he knew. To what place and what people, he could not decide. He was beginning to tire of wonders – to tire in general. He had been traveling for four years, never stopping in one place for long, learning all he could.

Thom shielded his eyes as he stood outside the walls of the convent, looking out over the glittering waters of the Emerald Ocean. Somewhere far across those waves lay his home. He pushed away the thought as, down the road that wound up the hill to the convent, he spotted a party of horsemen approaching. No sense getting caught up in that. He saluted the axe-wielding guards who opened the gate, and crossed the courtyard.

He paused. There, chatting with the brown-skinned Hag-Daughter, was the other traveler who had been haunting these walls. He was a tall, dark-haired man, younger than Thom, who radiated presence even from afar. Thom had spotted him in the refectory over the last few days, though they had never spoken. Might as well rectify that.

He bowed to the Hag-Daughter and exchanged the usual pleasantries with her. She could be unpleasantly sharp, but Thom could hardly begrudge that in a person; they tolerated one another. “But how rude of me,” he said, turning to the other man. “Will you introduce us?”

The Daughter’s lips pursed, but she obliged. “My lord, may I present Numair Salmalín. Master Salmalín, this is Lord Thom of Trebond. You mages should get on well.” With a short bow, she left.

“And we were having such a good conversation,” Numair said mournfully, then turned his dark eyes on Thom. “Did you put a frog in her bed, or is it that you’re a lord?”

Thom had to laugh. “Perhaps the latter. I hadn’t thought on it.” She was half-raka, a status he gathered might make life difficult for her outside the convent walls. Their conversation was interrupted, however, by the clatter of hooves entering the courtyard. No doubt the party he had spotted. Thom was prepared to ignore them, but Numair’s eyes widened, his face going grey.

Thom turned to look. Carthakis, he thought, in bright riding clothes and carrying dangerously practical-looking weapons. _You’re far from home_ , he thought, then turned to look back at Numair. The other man looked unfazed now; for moment, Thom thought he might have imagined his reaction. When Numair smiled and casually excused himself, though, Thom knew he hadn’t. _Who are you?_ he wondered.

That night, Thom didn’t see Numair in the refectory. It only piqued his curiosity further. Luck was on his side, though: when he went to do some after-supper reading in the library, he found Numair browsing the shelves there. He stopped, watching him, then finally spoke up.

“You’re running from someone.” Thom dropped the observation matter-of-factly. The younger man wore it well; Thom had been lucky to catch the glimpse of panic, earlier, as the Carthakis entered the courtyard. “This is far afield for a Carthaki to track you. Someone is very angry.”

Numair’s eyes sharpened. “The Carthakis have nothing to do with me.” He held steady as Thom examined him.

“I believe you,” Thom said. “These aren’t _your_ Carthakis – but they might bring word to interested ears. I’ll keep quiet, don’t worry.” He mimed locking his lips and tossing away the key.

Numair’s wariness eased into a glint of humor. “I don’t believe you could be truly quiet if you wanted to,” he said. He turned to the shelf again, long fingers lighting over the spines of books. “I have eyes, too, but I hardly need them to know you’re a mage.”

Thom frowned, suddenly focusing beyond the shape of Numair’s hands and noticing which books he was examining. “Sea magic. Weather magic. Those are powerful forces to meddle with, for one so young.”

Numair’s shoulders tightened. “They’re for study,” he said, slipping a book off the shelf and tucking it against his side.

“Are you sure? They could be quite useful for a fugitive like you.” Thom reached out, the violet light of his magic wrapping around the book Numair held and tugging it towards himself. It was a gamble, but not a terrible one – this mage would not risk drawing attention by fighting with another mage. Thom turned the book over in his hands. “ _Riding the Winds_ ,” he said. “Tunekeeper. An interesting choice. His treatises were always a little…eccentric.”

“Dense, you mean,” Numair said. It was what most people said of Tunekeeper. Thom waved the word away, though.

“No. I will admit, he takes puzzling through – it’s not every mage who can make sense of him – but the way he twists the conventions of nature magic–”

“He makes you rethink what’s possible,” Numair said, and Thom looked up in startlement. Numair’s eyes were snapping, a small, delighted smile on his face. Thom could feel his own face softening into a smile, without his quite giving it permission.

“You won’t master this in a night, or even a few nights,” Thom warned.

“I don’t have to,” Numair said. “I’ve read him before – I just need to refresh my memory. The book, if you please.” He held out his hand expectantly.

“Let me help.” Thom held up a hand, forestalling Numair. “Either you’re too young and inexperienced to handle it, in which case I’d rather prevent you from blowing up the convent, or…” He paused raising an eyebrow. “How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen? I scandalized the Mithrans when I passed the Ordeal at that age. This is master-level magic. If you _can_ handle it, then that’s something worth seeing.”

Numair’s own interest seem to have been snuffed, his wariness back full-force. “You’ve no reason to trust me.”

“And you’ve no reason to trust me,” Thom said lightly, knowing he walked on dangerous ground. He smiled, cat-like, his blood singing with the risk. “I’ve never got on with other powerful mages.” Thom turned the book over in his hands, considering. “Why don’t you tell me what you think of his modifications to Altair’s principles of current redirection, and we’ll see how things go from there?”

He had Numair there; he could see the momentary struggle in his face before he gave in, launching into speech. They ended up at a study table tucked into the back of the library, where Numair could keep a watchful eye on the courtyard through a window. More books joined Tunekeeper’s, and as dusk fell and they lit candles, Thom drew Numair’s plans for this magic out of him.

“There’s old stories of ships spelled to go faster than any wind could carry them,” Numair said. “Mentions in histories and songs. That magic is lost, but if I mixed Tunekeeper’s control spells with a combination of these Storm Anchor variations...”

“You could get far ahead of your pursuers,” Thom said, already nodding. He could see how it might come together, the shape of it in his head. “You would need to anchor it with something, a spell powerful enough to hold it all together.”

“That’s a point I hadn’t considered.” Numair sat back, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Perhaps…” He stood, wandering among the shelves again. Thom watched, his mind turning over the magical problem, but also the riddle of this young sorcerer. Brilliant as he was, and he was brilliant – perhaps as good as Thom at that age – he must have a powerful enemy, to flee instead of fighting. _Like you did_ , Thom thought, with a cold wash of memory down his spine.

Thom’s survival had been a quirk of timing only, Master Si-cham making his way out of the City of the Gods and onto the road to Corus faster than anyone had expected. Timing, and better friends than he deserved, Thom could admit these years later. Alanna had taken the burden of his magic and Roger’s long enough to allow Thom and Si-cham to cleanse his Gift and sever the connection to Roger, and Thom had left Corus as people poured into the city for Jonathan’s coronation.

He was on the Great Road East when he heard the results of that day. Instead of turning back to attend the funerals, he sent a letter congratulating his sister, and continued on to Tusaine and beyond. He had not returned to Tortall since then, and he had not yet outlived the ghost of Roger.

The answer to the other problem hit him then, like a spark of lightning, jolting him from his memories. “Not a spell to anchor it,” he said, as Numair came back. “A second person, working to keep the spells in balance while the first manipulates the wind.”

Numair set the books down, eyes tracing Thom’s face. Thom felt as if the other man were trying to read his thoughts. It was not a magical feeling, but an uncomfortable one all the same; he shifted in his chair. “You would be the second mage?” he said. Thom didn’t have to nod; he lifted his chin, and Numair leaned forward. “I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but, gods bless it, _why?_ We’ve only just met, and you know something of the dangers I face.”

Thom thought of the years he had spent away from home since Roger’s second death, drifting from place to place and learning all those places had to teach him. He thought of the equally lonely years he had spent learning in the City of the Gods. “I hear that the king of Tortall has founded a university,” he said. “It’s a long time since I’ve been home, but they might take me. More to the point, they’ll _want_ you.” He leaned forward.

“You’re a master mage – that, or you’re ready to take those tests when you decide to. Tortall has powerful mages, but not in the number that Carthak does, and it lost its best-known mage several years back. You would be an asset to their university.”

“That’s still not an answer,” Numair said dryly.

“It’s not sensible of me,” Thom admitted. He smiled a little. “I’m not a good judge of character, and I’m too quick to let clever men intrigue me.” As a younger man, he’d never have been able to say as much, so lightly – but he’d had plenty of time for self-examination. “But I’d like to see what you become. Keep my eye on you, so to speak. What else are you going to do? Go to Yaman? _Scanra?_ ” He scoffed. “It’d be a waste of your talents. Come to Tortall with me.”

A flash of white teeth, and Numair reached a hand across. “Deal,” he said. “It’s worth a try – if we don’t break up in the ocean.”

“That’s why you’re lucky to have met _me,_ ” Thom said smugly as they shook on it. “If I’m not the most powerful mage in Tortall, I’ll be giving them a run for their money by coming back.”

“We’ll have to see about that,” Numair said.

Thom almost thought he could take the competition.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy! I had fun writing for you.


End file.
